The Life and Times of Agent 22
by SpoiledTruth
Summary: How did Bentina Beakley, housekeeper, granny, and ex-agent extraordinaire, become who she is today? How did she make the friends she has and the enemies she keeps? Well, it all started with a piano recital at age 9...


Location: Anatidae, England

Year: 1944

* * *

Fingers breezed along the ivory keys, the wind pressing on the keys in perfect order. The sound was crisp yet blended together as I played with great spirit and forte. Allegro con spirito, it said up in the corner. Lively with spirit. It obviously started with forte volumes, what else would it start with? I had to shift now, quickly too. No hairpin was marked under the notes. Piano, it noted. Time didn't exist right now, it was frozen, if anything. I shifted the volume and played the notes with the precise softness that was inked on the paper. My right hand jerked over to play the higher notes.

I didn't want to look back, but if I could, the image that flashed in my mind for a split second consisted of everyone there sitting in their seats, speechless. The babies no longer wailing, the kids no longer chasing each other, only my fingers that flew on the keys. The mothers would stop gossiping among each other and the few fathers that attended were wide awake, in a trance. My trance.

Legato, it said. If everyone wasn't impressed already, then get ready for them to feel the warmth and embrace that is time slowing to a stop. With the lifting of my hands, I slammed them down into a strong forte transition and forced my fingers to not lift up, not once. They were only allowed to slide along from key to key.

Beakhoven was one of, if not the most influential pianists of all time. His pieces always conveyed deep emotions that bled into your body. He could flip the mood of his music on a half penny. One moment the notes could be energetic and sharp, the next moment heavy and almost romantic, pick the energy and brisk pace back up and end it off with a somber conclusion. That alone would've been enough for me to pick up the third movement of Moonlight Sonata without a second thought. The message you send to your audience is also controlled by you and not the notes. How you manipulate each and every fragile note can be the difference between a hasty, shattered performance or an uplifting, delicate one. You can even fool people into thinking they can rest, silence covering them like a woolen blanket, and out of nowhere you pick the music back up in the most magnificent way. The main reason I chose this alongside Beakhoven's masterful crafting of the notes in the particular piece is if you play your cards right you could practically manipulate your audience and make them feel however you wished them to feel.

If I'm honest, no, I can't. I need to focus on one thing and one thing only. One of my fingers faltered and shifted to the wrong key. A growl rumbled in my throat. My eyes shifted back over to the keys as I got my hands back on track and my wondering mind as well.

The music began to fade. Silence. What was going on? Did I freeze up? Where was I? It didn't feel right. My ears rang as the music escaped the small quarters.

Clap. Clap. Clap, clap, clap, clap.

Applause filled my ears. Had I finished? I turned around to face the judges, still unsure as to what happened. They didn't look pleased. They always looked displeased, right? It wasn't just me? I didn't let my fear show. I got up and waited for the judges to say something. While waiting, I performed a quick bow to top off the performance.

The judges turned to one another and began to whisper among themselves. While waiting, I stood in my poise position, only looking around with my eyes. Other than my competitors, there was only one other kid I could spot out in the crowd. His name was Winfred. Winfred Arkwing. I could always feel him staring holes into the my back whenever I performed. Of course, I was so into my performance that I would never notice the spine shivering sensation until after I finished my piece.

We made eye contact, his eyes darting away from me immediately. I continued to scan the crowd in hopes of seeing my parents. It wasn't that they didn't care, far from it. My father worked to keep us at a comfortable amount while my mother made sure we were all warm and fed. My mother said that we would have more money if she could find a job that accepted her.

I remember first hearing that when I was five. Ever since then, people described me as persistant, a hard worker, an overachiever. I told myself that I was just trying my hardest to be my best. My parents wanted me to be the best and so did I.

"Miss Quacklin, the judges have spoken." The three judges turned around to face me. I straightened my spine and kept my eyes wide open for their undivided attention.

The judge in the middle cleared his throat in the most elegant manner. "Points have been deducted from an incorrect note being played in the beginning at around the twenty-eighth measure." His haughty voice began to fill my ears and bloat my head as I was being judged. It was to be expected and every time shame tried to knock me down I would kick it down and stand tall and mighty, hoping to learn from my mistakes and accidents. If I was going to be the best, I wouldn't let my insecurities take over. Not now. Not ever.

Another judge by the name of Mr. Heronway adjusted his circular rimmed glasses which perched perfectly on his extended beak. "We also had to deduct points off for a wavering tempo. You either were too slow or too fast." Swallowing suddenly became a difficult task. My throat was parched and my small palms became slippery and clammy with cold sweat. It would be all over soon, I told myself.

Any judge could judge me, but everyone cowered in fear when Mr. Heronway walked into a room. Not only was he a judge for piano recitals, but a judge for everyone on anything and everything. He would scrutinize people's outfits and the way they held themselves at extravagant parties. It was as though he wanted to be Tom Buchanan himself. He carried himself like he was old money because he was old money. Every recital he would make at least one contestant cry in front of the audience. Today wouldn't be my day, no day would be my day to cry because of him. The most he ever does is push me off my pedal of confidence, which he did at every recital.

"However," the third judge began, "you played every single note with precision and the music exactly how it was written. You moved nearly everyone here." Mr. Heronway turned his head in disgust at the sound of the judge complimenting my playing.

Mr. Heronway squinted his eyes and pierced my eyes. "You may take a seat now." So I did.

Everyone got up for a fifteen minute break while the judges determined who would wear cobalt, scarlet, and ivory ribbons. While waiting, I decided to catch a fresh breath of air. Without anyone's knowledge, I slipped out of the room and to the outdoors where the rough bricks scratched my bare arms under my feathers.

The sound of the front door opening alerted me to the only person who would've followed me outside. "Well, well, well. Ready to be placed in my shadow once again?" Barbara Heronway used to be just a classmate that I knew. Ever since we saw each other at piano recitals, however, all of that changed. She began to despise me even though she would land first place every time. My parents told me that she was just jealous of me. Whenever my parents said that I would always stop and wonder. If that really was the case, then why would she be jealous at someone who never achieved first place?

I decided to not respond. Instead, I turned away from her and took in the crisp autumn scenery that played before my eyes.

"Uh, hello?" Barbara said. "I'm talking to you!"

I glanced over and made quick eye contact with her. "Yeah, I know."

She huffed. "So why aren't you responding to me?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't I doing that now?"

Barbara growled as I turned my whole body to face her. "Whatever!" With that, she stomped off. I shrugged before following her back in. It was getting a bit chilly anyway.

While warming up inside, time didn't appear to go any faster. In fact, it went at a rather slow pace. Fifteen minutes felt like hours. Without anyone to talk to, I stood around and wandered here and there within the building.

"Excuse me, miss. Vhat is your name?" A tall, slender duck with messy feathers that clearly needed to be preened out approached me. Despite his messy appearance he had an aura of high class and importance.

"Why should I tell you?" I inquired.

The man grinned. "The name's Ludwig Von Drake. I am here to vind students for ze Saint Canard Academy!"

"Never heard of it," I told him.

"Vell," he began, "that's vecause not a lot of people make it in vere!"

I rolled my eyes. "Look, if you're trying to 'be my friend' you're making yourself work too hard," I said.

He looked around before leaning in to whisper to me. "Your pavents alveady know."

I backed up to distance myself away from him. "Uh huh, sure. Look, just let me get my ribbon and be gone, okay?"

He shrugged. "Okay vhen." He walked out of the building and it felt as though he was never there in the first place.

The sound of chatter fading away caught my attention as people began to file back into the room. I followed suit and took my seat in the front row with other recitalists. The amount of people talking decreased quickly as the judges walked up to the stage where the large, ebony grand piano sat.

Mr. Heronway cleared his throat. "The judges have spoken," he said. "In third place is Catherine Canvasback with Clair de Lune." The young duck walked up and claimed her pasty white ribbon with  
"3rd" embroidered in gold threading on the front.

Mr. Heronway pinched the silky red ribbon with his fingers, "2nd" embroidered in gold threading on the front. And while my name wasn't literally embroidered on the ribbon as well, I probably wouldn't have noticed any difference if it was. "In second place is Bentina Quacklin with Moonlight Sonata Third Movement." I stood up with haste and grabbed the ribbon quickly. At this point, I knew how the rest of it went.

Mr. Heronway bent over and grabbed the bright blue ribbon with "1st" embroidered in gold threading on the front daintily. "In first place is Barbara Heronway with Étude Opus Ten Number Forty." Barbara walked up to the stage in perfect motion. I could almost see the nearly invisible strings that were tied to her and the shadowed figure above controlling her every move. Perhaps she practiced her walk up to the stage more than her piece. Despite the fast paced piece, I sat there and picked out all her errors with ease. The whole room could feel them, and yet she won first place. At first, I always wondered how and why Barbara managed to squeeze her way into first place. But now it was a matter of when would she not get first place, and the answer to that question is a simple, "never."

She grabbed the ribbon and walked off the stage. The judges concluded the recital and everyone dispersed. I neatly folded up the red ribbon and walked towards home. The journey there wasn't too long. We didn't live on the outskirts of the forest or anything crazy like that. It was more of a maze through all of the houses to find our house.

I eventually found my way and opened the door. "Mum, dad, I'm home!" I called out, shutting the door behind me.

"I assume you got second place, Ventina?"

I froze where I was and scanned the area. Out of the corner of my eye a smokey grey jacket poked out. My eyes darted over to see Ludwig Von Drake.

"What are you doing here?" I groaned out.

A set of footsteps was heard. "Now Bentina, that's no way to treat a guest." Mum came walking out with a fresh loaf of bread.

I sighed. "Mum, he tried talking to me at my recital and now he somehow found where we live?"

Ludwig turned to look at me and said, "Remember saying something about alveady telling your parents?"

I looked over to my mother, my father now there as well, in hopes of figuring out what was going on.

"Oh yes, Mr. Drake told us about Saint Canard Academy!" my mum gushed. "He said that you would be a great student there!"

I turned over to dad. "Please tell me you're not in this!" I begged.

"Are you kidding?" he said. "Bentina, this is a prestigious school! You should feel honored by the fact that Mr. Drake thinks you're qualified to attend!"

"What?" I choked out. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"I vunderstand you not tvusting me in the beginning," he said, "but I don't understand vhat makes me so suspicious to you now."

I glared at him. "You're not making yourself look any better," I told him bluntly.

"Bentina Quacklin! That is no way to treat a guest!" mum repeated. "Anyway, dinner's ready." Mum looked over at Mr. Drake while I took at seat on the opposite side of him. "I am so sorry for the way Bentina's acting. She's usually much more well behaved than this."

Mr. Drake chuckled. "It's alvight. It's good that she doesn't tvust strangers vwight away."

My mum chuckled as she placed the food down with delicacy and femininity. I never understood how mum could do everything so gracefully. I wanted to be like mum; graceful, beautiful, powerful.

Despite idolizing my own mother, I had a hard time concentrating on the topic. That stupid Ludwig von Drake and his "prestigious academy" was taking up all the space in my head. Why was he so persistent? Why me specifically? What was this academy even about? What did they specialize in? Did they have a music program?

"Bentina, sweetie," mum piped up. I shook my head and looked directly at her. "Ludwig is talking to you."

Oh, him.

"Sorry, I was thinking," I said bluntly. I reached over and spooned myself a small serving of the hot casserole before sitting back down.

"Zhat is qvuite alright, missy," he said. Don't call me missy, I growled internally. Externally, however, I kept my beak shut. "Zhe Saint Canard Academy is a private school zhat has only the most highly qualified and trained professors from all around ze world!"

I poked at my food as I stared at him. "What does this 'academy' specialize in?" I asked.

"I'm glad you asked!" Ludwig chimed. "Saint Canard specializes primarily in academics. However, vwe also have a music program vhich I think you more zhan qualify for."

A music program? Finally, something about this academy that piqued my interests. I looked around and it was a little more than obvious that my parents picked up on my shift.

"See, sweetie? It's not as bad as you think!" dad said, entering himself into the conversation. "And, as another plus, all of your schooling is paid for! How spectacular is that?"

Paid for? All of it? That didn't sound right, especially for a private academy. "Are you sure about that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course! Even ze aeroplane trip is covered," Ludwig explained casually.

"Wait what?" I said, nearly choking on my bite of food. "What aeroplane trip?"

"Oh, yes! I forgot to tell you!" Ludwig said.

"Tell me what?" I asked, eager to find out what he oh so conveniently forgot to bring up.

"Zhat zhis academy is in zhe United States!" Ludwig said.

Wait, so this academy that Ludwig wants me to attend is in another country entirely? I would have to leave my parents behind just to attend this school? I wasn't so sure on the idea now. My passion in music wasn't worth leaving my parents behind.

"Don't be discouraged, though," Ludwig said, as though he was reading my mind, "because you'll be able to fly back and zee your parents during any breaks we have."

That may have lifted some weight off of my shoulders, but only a little bit. Just like that, I had no appetite. My nerves had taken over me. The food on my plate no longer looked appealing. All I wanted to at this point was either practice on the piano or go to bed early. Really early, in this case.

I heard my mother sigh in sympathy. "When does she have to decide?" she asked Ludwig.

"Oh, she has until next veek," Ludwig answered. My mum nodded and turned to look at me. Unsure of what she wanted from me, I shrugged and pushed my plate away from me.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, sliding out of my seat.

"Okay, sweetie," my father said. "I understand."

As I walked out of the dining room and up the stairs to my bedroom, I could hear chatting. I could recognize the voices as my parents' and Ludwig's voices. However, I wasn't able to make out any words. It didn't matter anyway, I just needed some time to think. I really didn't want to go. I wanted to stay here with my parents. Besides, why is this academy so special? It's like any other abroad academy and I didn't want to go to any of those either. But my parents would understand me, right?

It's not like they would make me go to the academy.


End file.
